


Wearing  glass slippers, I got my Chucks

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: A little bit of pining, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/F, Language of Flowers, No Plot Just Feelings, POV Stevie Budd, but then sex, reclamation of the word bitch I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26440990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: The woman standing in front of the counter looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, photoshop and all. Blonde hair tumbles around her face and neck in waves, and she has a soft and genuine-looking smile as she casts her eyes around the walls where some of their flash sheets are hung up. She’s all grace and ethereal beauty, and Stevie is a sweaty dishevelled mess in a fuckingsports brabecause she couldn’t find a proper one after her shower this morning.Awesome.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & Alexis Rose, Stevie Budd/Alexis Rose
Comments: 44
Kudos: 104
Collections: Elevate! A Schitt's Creek Femslash Exchange, Up for Anything – a Schitt's Creek WLW porn collection





	Wearing  glass slippers, I got my Chucks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leopxld_fitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopxld_fitz/gifts).



> Thank you so much to everyone (you know who you are) who helped me get this across the line, but particularly to this_is_not_nothing for coming in clutch with a transition and ESPECIALLY ships_to_sail for all the hair-petting and unending cheerleading and bracket assistance when I needed it. And thanks so much to the Elevate mods for all the hard work you put into this fest! ❤️ 
> 
> The title comes from ["Anarchy & Disney" by The Dollyrots](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tt6ZyZB-4Qc&ab_channel=TheDollyrots), because... listen to that and tell me it's not a Stevie/Alexis song.

“Okay, okay, quiet down, everyone. It’s time to start.”

Stevie slumps back in her chair, the chatter slowly settling down around her at Jocelyn’s voice. These monthly meetings for all the business owners in the shopping atrium are almost always a waste of time, but at least there’s wine, and she takes a long swig from her plastic cup as silence falls over the room before Jocelyn jumps straight in. There’s nothing new: an update on the ongoing battle with the council to get them to come into the arcade to collect their garbage so they don’t have to lug it out onto the street every week (the update is there is no update), there are flyers for everyone to place in their windows for whatever Jocelyn’s latest community theatre project is (no thanks), could the smokers please refrain from smoking in the main walkway of the atrium (they won’t). Stevie tunes it all out, mostly, letting her gaze wander over the familiar faces surrounding her. 

Nothing ever changes in this place, and that’s exactly how she likes it.

“Oh, there is one more piece of news!” Jocelyn says brightly, and Stevie snaps her attention back at the tone. “Store 14 has a new leaseholder.”

Okay. One thing changes in this place: store 14. In the six years since Stevie inherited her tattoo studio, store 14 has been a health food store, three different independent bookstores, a retro clothing store, an arts and crafts supply store, and a specialist tea store. None of them has lasted more than a year. When she first started apprenticing for Aunt Maureen it was a new age store, with crystals and tarot readings and energy healing, and some of the other business owners think the owner cursed the space when she left.

Stevie could tell them that Darlene actually met a guy online and sold up to go and live with him on a houseboat in Florida, but she’s not sure they’d believe her. In any case, the space isn’t cursed; it’s just cheap rent, and naive new business owners think that will make up for the lack of foot traffic coming through the atrium. By the time they realise they need to actually hustle to get customers into their store, it’s usually too late.

“What’s going in there?” Jake asks, and Stevie eyeballs him across the room. They all know Jake is more interested in  _ who _ than  _ what, _ but she’s curious about the answer to his question too, so she lets it go without making the acerbic comment on the tip of her tongue.

Jocelyn looks down at the folder in her hand even though they all know she knows every detail of the new store. “It’s a florist, which will be nice. The owner’s name is Alexis Rose.”

Stevie snorts, loudly, and everyone turns to look at her. “Sorry, I just— am I really the only one who thinks that’s funny?” When she just gets blank stares in return, she adds: “A florist whose surname is Rose?”

“Oh, didn’t we tell you?” Twyla says with a grin. She’s one of those eternally cheerful people Stevie normally finds incredibly grating but is actually tolerable in this case, though that might just be the fact that Twyla gives all the shop owners free coffee. “We’ve got a new policy. Surname-related stores only. Really looking forward to your new weed dispensary, Stevie.”

“And your beachfront café,” she shoots back, and Twyla laughs.

“This seems like a good time for us to finish up,” Jocelyn says quickly, and the meeting ends in raucous laughter and more than a few ‘Schitt’ jokes aimed Jocelyn’s way. Stevie throws her cup in the garbage, slips past Jocelyn before she can thrust an obnoxiously yellow poster into her hands, and heads out the door and towards the parking lot. But she stops for a second outside store 14, staring through the window.

A florist, huh. It’ll be interesting to see how long she lasts here.

* * *

It’s been a long fucking day. 

Ruth called in sick, which isn’t her fault but meant Stevie had to call all her appointments and reschedule them, and she fucking hates admin; she should really hire a receptionist, but frankly, the thought of trying to do that just seems way too hard. Her 10am cancelled last minute, and then had a temper tantrum about the fact that he wouldn’t get his deposit back even though he was told very clearly that it was non-refundable. Her 1pm turns out to be a bleeder, which is  _ fine, _ it’s a hazard of the job and one she’s very used to but it does mean she winds up running a few minutes late for her final appointment and  _ that _ customer gets weirdly snippy with her about a ten-minute delay. 

So, yeah. She’s not really at her best when Eric sticks his head around the door as she’s cleaning up her station to say that “some chick” is asking for her in reception. She tied her flannel shirt around her waist hours ago, leaving her in just a tank top, and her hair has been haphazardly pulled back into a messy ponytail, but she’s not thinking about any of that until she walks into reception and comes face to face with the most attractive person she’s ever seen in her goddamn life. 

The woman standing in front of the counter looks like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, photoshop and all. Blonde hair tumbles around her face and neck in waves, and she has a soft and genuine-looking smile as she casts her eyes around the walls where some of their flash sheets are hung up. She’s all grace and ethereal beauty, and Stevie is a sweaty dishevelled mess in a fucking  _ sports bra _ because she couldn’t find a proper one after her shower this morning.

Awesome.

“Uh, someone said you were looking for me?”

The woman’s head whips around when Stevie speaks, and her eyes widen. “You’re Stevie?”

Stevie nods awkwardly as the other woman’s face stretches into a grin and wow, fuck. Apparently she can get  _ hotter. _

“Wow, okay! I thought ’Stevie who owns the tattoo parlour’ was going to be, like, some grumpy old guy or whatever. It is so nice to meet another girl boss! I’m Alexis Rose. I’ve leased the space a couple of stores up.” She holds out a hand, but sort of… turned over, like she’s expecting Stevie to kiss it or something. Which Stevie could; she could kiss the back of Alexis’ hand, and run her lips up the inside of her arm, and… 

_ Jesus fuck, get it together, Budd. _

“Stevie Budd.” She takes the proffered hand and shakes it quickly, awkwardly, before letting go. If Alexis notices her discomfiture, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Well,” Alexis says, using one finger to flick a lock of hair off her face, “it is so nice to meet you, Stevie Budd. I just wanted to come and say hi, and tell you that I’m going to be starting to set up the store soon, so hopefully you’ll see a bit more of me in the next couple of weeks.”

Stevie would like to see a lot more of her, actually, but she manages not to say that. Alexis’ whole tone and demeanour is something she should find annoying — the phrase ‘girl boss’ is cloying as hell, and bullshit — but Stevie is somehow, to her irritation, charmed by Alexis instead. Which might just be a sign that she hasn’t gotten laid in way too long, now that she thinks about it.

Alexis is looking at her, head tilted, and Stevie realises she’s waiting for a response. “Sure, okay,” she manages, and Alexis nods once, satisfied.

“Great! Well, if I don’t see you before will you save me a seat at this monthly meeting thing we apparently have next week?”

“Uh.” Stevie blinks at her. There are always far more chairs than there are attendees, and she doesn’t think she’s ever once  _ sat next to _ someone. “Sure?”

Alexis’ smile grows impossibly wider. “Thank you, Stevie!” she chirps, and then she’s floating out the door. Stevie can only stare after her, somewhere between dazed and bewildered and turned on. 

* * *

Stevie smells Alexis before she sees her.

That’s not as creepy as it sounds. She smells like crisp florals and greenery to the point that when Stevie turns around she’s surprised it’s not actually someone holding a bouquet — it’s just Alexis, smiling widely as she slides into the seat next to her a few minutes before the meeting starts. 

“Hey, Stevie!” she chirps. “Is there anything I need to, like, be across before this starts? Any background information I should be aware of?”

“Um.” It takes a moment for her to process the question, slightly distracted by the gold ‘A’ necklace nestled in Alexis’ collarbone. “I mean, the wine’s over there. That’s all I need to know before these things.”

Alexis laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and Stevie wonders if Alexis thinks she’s kidding. “Well that is super important,” she says with a grin and a punctuating tap on Stevie’s arm that she doesn’t entirely hate. “But I meant more like, anything from previous meetings that I need the background of for this one.”

Stevie snorts. “We’ll be discussing what we discussed last time, and the time before that,” she says simply. “Trust me, it’s always the same shit, different meeting.”

Alexis tilts her head at that, but before she can say anything in response Jocelyn is standing at the front of her room and clearing her throat. Stevie lets her eyes glaze over almost immediately, but she’s not unaware of Alexis next to her, back ramrod-straight as she keeps her gaze fixed on Jocelyn. 

“No update from the council regarding garbage collection yet, so just keep taking it out to the street for now, and—” 

“Sorry, how long have you been waiting for a response?” Alexis asks, and most of the other faces in the room whip around to look at her. No one interrupts Jocelyn when she’s working through her list; they all learned long ago that it really wasn’t worth dealing with the resulting passive-aggression. But Alexis couldn’t have known that, and she ignores the awkward atmosphere she  _ must  _ be sensing to keep her gaze fixed on Jocelyn. 

“A little longer than you’ve been here, Alexis, that’s for sure!” Jocelyn laughs. “Now, the next—”

“But how long is that, though?” Alexis’ smile hasn’t wavered, and Stevie lets her eyes flit between her and Jocelyn like she’s at a tennis match. She kind of wishes she had popcorn.

Jocelyn grits her teeth. “The request was first submitted to the council in March.”

“Oh.” Stevie’s probably the only one who notices the way Alexis’ shoulders relax infinitesimally. “Well, two months, that’s not too bad, I suppose.”

“Oh no,” Ray pipes up, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the icy look Jocelyn shoots his way. “Jocelyn means March of last year.”

“Hmm.” Alexis’ eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything further, and there’s definitely relief in Jocelyn’s tone when she moves on to the next item on her list. Stevie steals a glance at Alexis and takes in her set jaw, the determination etched across her face. She doesn’t know exactly what it’s about, but she knows she’s into it. She lets her thoughts drift, to nothing in particular and definitely not trying to identify what flowers she can smell from her left, until the change in Jocelyn’s tone breaks her out of her reverie.

“Is there anything else anyone needs to add?”

That’s her cue. “Yeah,” she says, and a few faces turn to her even though she knows most of them already know what she’s going to say. “We have a flash day scheduled for the third of June, so be prepared for a bit of an uptick in foot traffic.”

“Thank you for letting us know, Stevie,” Jocelyn says sweetly. “If there’s nothing else…” when no one jumps in, she adds, “well, then. That’s this meeting done.” 

There’s a flurry of chairs scraping as people get up to leave. Alexis doesn’t appear to be in any hurry, though, turning to face Stevie with her hand under her chin, palm down. “What’s a flash day?” she asks brightly.

“Oh.” She forgets, sometimes, that all this stuff — things that are practically in her blood — isn’t common knowledge to everyone. “So, instead of taking bookings that day it’s walk-in only, and we have a bunch of pre-drawn designs for people to choose from. We do them a couple of times a year with all the proceeds going to charity or whatever.” She picks at the bed of her nail, a nervous habit she’s tried to break a hundred times over the years. 

“Love that, Stevie,” Alexis says, and it somehow manages to be both gushing and sincere at once which Stevie didn’t think was possible. “What’s the charity?”

Stevie shrugs. “Our June one is always for the LGBTQ+ shelter.”

“Such a worthy cause, girl,” Alexis says. “Do you want to get a drink?”

Stevie blinks at the non sequitur. “Huh?”

“A drink.” Alexis grins at her. “There’s a super cute-looking bar down the road. We could get to know each other, and you could tell me all about what it’s like to own a shop in here.”

“Right.” Stevie tampers down the disappointment as the fleeting hope that it might be a date is snatched away. “Sure, I’m always down for a drink.”

“Awesome.” Alexis stands, holding out a hand Stevie doesn’t need but takes anyway just to enjoy it for a moment as she gets to her feet. To her surprise, though, when Alexis drops her hand it’s to loop an arm through hers, and they make their way out the door and towards the bar in remarkably comfortable silence.

It’s a Wednesday night, so there’s not much of a crowd when they arrive. Alexis leads them both up to where the bartender is standing, not unlinking their arms until she picks up a drinks menu and scans her eyes quickly down it while Stevie waits for her to decide on what she assumes will be a sugary, light cocktail.

“Can I get a Glenfiddich neat with a water back?”

Stevie’s jaw drops open. Not a cosmopolitan or whatever, then.

The fact that Alexis clearly knows how to order a whiskey should  _ not _ get her as hot as it does.

“The same, please,” she croaks out when she realises the bartender is looking at her, and Alexis shoots her a small smile. 

Drinks in hand, they make their way to a booth in the corner. They settle in opposite each other and Alexis just  _ looks _ at her for a long moment, until Stevie’s starting to squirm, and then she raises her whiskey glass and waits for Stevie to do the same. 

“To bitch bosses and boss bitches,” she says with a grin, clinking their glasses together before adding quietly, “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you more, Stevie.” She brings her glass to her lips, and Stevie wordlessly mirrors the movement.

“So!” Alexis says once she’s taken a sip, and Stevie has done her best not to stare at the way her throat moves as she swallows. “I am super curious. Tell me how you got into tattooing.”

There’s something in Alexis’ wide, open expression that makes Stevie want to be more honest than she normally is in response to this question, and she runs her finger along the rim of her glass. “I kept getting in trouble at school for drawing on the desks,” she says slowly. “Anyway, after like the third time they suspended me my mom started talking about shipping me off to some fucking boarding school somewhere. She must have said something to my Aunt Maureen because she drove all the way to my mom’s house, which is like three hours from here.” She looks up to find Alexis’ eyes locked on her, her chin in both hands. It’s a lot, being the centre of that much rapturous attention, and Stevie drops her gaze again. “She walks into my room and she tells me, ‘If you really want to permanently deface things there are people who would pay you for the privilege’. She said there was a spare room in her apartment if I wanted her to teach me how to tattoo. So I packed my shit and I drove here with her, and I never looked back.”

“Wow.” Alexis sounds impressed and Stevie lets herself bask in it, just for a moment. “And when did you buy the business?”

“I didn’t.” Stevie clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “I, uh, inherited it. Six years ago.”

“Oh.” It’s more an exhale than a word as Alexis reaches across, squeezing Stevie’s wrist before letting go much faster than Stevie would have liked. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Stevie says quickly. “The first I knew Aunt Maureen had left it to me was when these lawyers turned up at the shop with the paperwork looking very out of place and telling me I was now the proud owner of the business and the premises. I didn’t even know she owned our store before that; I’d just assume it was a lease, but…” she trails off, staring down into her whiskey. “Anyway, it took me a while to get my head around the whole running a business part of it all, but we’re doing well now. We’ve got a reputation for good, clean work, which is the most important thing to people, really.”

“Well look at you go, girl,” Alexis says with a smile that threatens to tear right through Stevie’s skin. 

“And what about you?” Stevie asks, trying to deflect a bit of attention off herself. “What’s your story?”

Alexis swirls her drink around her glass, staring down at it. “I spent most of my teens and twenties travelling,” she says, and Stevie gets the impression she’s being careful with her words. “And I just… got a bit over it, you know?” She quirks a lip without looking up. “I wanted to settle down. Find a purpose, or whatever.”

“And flowers are that purpose?” She doesn’t actually mean it to sound as sardonic as it comes out, but… well, that’s her default setting. Luckily Alexis doesn’t seem to take offence; if anything, she looks amused.

“Did people send you flowers when your aunt passed away?” Alexis asks pointedly. 

“Yeah.” She doesn’t say,  _ It was a huge pain in the ass, actually, because I had to throw them all out when they died,  _ but from the look Alexis is giving her at least some of that must show on her face. 

“Congratulations and commiserations,” she says slowly. “That’s when everyone wants to give flowers: births, deaths, weddings, anniversaries. It’s like, human nature or whatever. There’s something…” she takes a deep breath. “It’s a sign of trust, I think. To be a tiny part of someone’s biggest moments like that. Even if just from the sidelines.”

Stevie has tattooed children’s names and wedding bands, handprints and pawprints and important dates. She’s never thought about it quite like that before. “I get that,” she murmurs. 

Alexis’ eyes flicker over her face before she nods. She’s silent for a long moment before blurting out, almost fiercely, “Flowers have meanings, you know? You can send a message or whatever, if you want to. People think it’s… vapid, or like, surface-level. But it’s not.”

Stevie will be the first to admit she’s not the best at picking up on things, sometimes. But she’s pretty sure Alexis isn’t just talking about flowers anymore. “No,” she says, holding Alexis’ gaze. “It’s not.”

They’re both silent for a moment, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. Stevie goes to take another sip of her drink and realises with surprise that it’s empty, and Alexis isn’t far off either. 

Alexis notices too. “Let me grab us another drink,” she says before adding with a… well, Stevie is guessing it’s meant to be a wink, but somehow both eyes are involved: “And then can you  _ please _ tell me what Jocelyn’s whole deal is?”

* * *

Stevie is two whiskeys past drunk and working on making it three by last call. She and Alexis squabble over the tab before finally agreeing to split it, and when they finally stumble outside Stevie sucks the cool not-quite-summer breeze into her lungs to steady her feet a little. She turns, only to find Alexis looking directly at her, and for a moment she thinks—

But then Alexis is hugging her, and Stevie tries to let it go. She pats her back a few times, feeling awkward, before Alexis pulls away and smiles sunnily. 

“I had such a great time tonight, babe,” she says. “I’m going to be super busy getting the store ready over the next few weeks, but maybe after that we could do this again?”

Stevie’s not an idiot; she knows a brush-off when she hears one and she chokes back the embarrassment. “Mm-hmm, sure,” she says tightly. “See you around, I guess.” 

She sees the frown on Alexis’ face as she turns away, but Alexis doesn’t call her back. 

* * *

A week after her not-date with Alexis, Stevie is in the café picking up her morning coffee when Twyla leans over the counter and says conspiratorially, “Did you hear the council agreed to start coming in here to collect our garbage?”

Stevie stares at her over the lid of her cup. There are certain truths in this world: there is no bad flannel, never walk into Jake’s workshop after 4pm unless you want an eyeful, and the town council will never lift a single finger more than they’re absolutely forced to. “Wait, what?”

Twyla nods. “Apparently Alexis Rose went down there and read them the riot act,” she says. “My cousin was there getting his community service hours signed off and he said she was quoting their own bylaws at them and basically refused to leave until they agreed.” She smooths her hands over her apron. “She’s really something, huh?”

“Mm.” The last thing she wants to do is give Twyla any hint of just how  _ really something _ she thinks Alexis is, so she just gives her a tight-lipped smile before heading out the door.

She’s got a full-day appointment today, session number four on a sleeve for a regular client, and she finds her mind drifting back to Alexis every time the conversation trails off. Which, okay. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about Alexis a lot this last couple of weeks, but it’s the first time she hasn’t tried to wrench her mind away when she has. She thought there was something to their night last week, and then there wasn’t. And that’s fine. But there’s no reason she can’t stop by and say thank you for whipping the council into shape, right?

And if, after she’s finished tattooing for the day and is alone in the store she runs a comb through her hair and reapplies her deodorant, well. That’s just basic hygiene. Nothing to it.

It’s only after she locks the front door and heads for Alexis’ that she realises the store isn’t even open yet, so who knows if Alexis will even be there? When she reaches the doors and peers in, though, Alexis is indeed behind the counter, leaning on it as she reads something, and Stevie grabs the door handle before she can lose her nerve. Alexis looks up at the sound of the door opening, and a huge smile spreads across her face.

“Stevie!”

“Um, hi,” she mutters, suddenly feeling awkward. “I just wanted to—”

“Alexis, you couldn’t have made these boxes a little lighter?” A guy’s voice echoes out from the back room just before the owner of the voice appears in the doorway, staggering slightly under the oversized box in his arms, forearms flexing where he’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Alexis huffs and rolls her eyes at him when he places the box down on top of whatever she was reading, an interaction that speaks to deep familiarity, and Stevie swallows back the swell of disappointment in her throat. 

Of  _ course _ Alexis is seeing someone. And that’s  _ fine. _

As soon as his hands are free, the guy turns to look at her and then back at Alexis with a questioning eyebrow. Alexis fixes him with a stare Stevie can’t read as she says, “This is Stevie Budd. She owns the tattoo parlour.”

“Ohhhhh.” It’s a drawn-out sound as he turns to face her with a grin, and there’s something in his tone — it’s teasing, and yet somehow Stevie doesn’t think she’s the one being teased. “You’re Stevie.”

“And this,” Alexis says in a rush, like she’s trying to cut him off, “is my business consultant and long-range financial planner.”

The guy shakes his head with an amused smile. “I’m none of those things, Alexis, but I am your brother-in-law doing you a  _ huge _ favour,” he says pointedly, and Stevie really shouldn’t be relieved at  _ brother-in-law. _ Alexis just shrugs as he holds out a hand to Stevie. “Patrick Brewer.”

“Brewer?” As she shakes his hand, Stevie quips: “You sure  _ you _ don’t want to take over the store?” Half a second too late she realises the comment won’t make sense, but to her surprise, Patrick laughs and turns back to Alexis.

“See? It’s not just David who has opinions on surname-related careers.”

“Ugh, don’t you dare tell him.”

Patrick shakes his head with a grin. “I heard you were funny, Stevie,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you, actually.”

“Patrick,” Alexis hisses as Stevie does her best to tamper down the spark of hope that flares up in her chest at the words. Just because Alexis has been talking about her doesn’t mean… well, it doesn’t mean anything, probably.

“None of it is true,” she says to Patrick, who just laughs.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Did you need something, Stevie?” Alexis cuts him off, a little desperately. 

“Oh.” She’d forgotten, momentarily, her whole excuse — no, reason — for coming in. “Um, yeah. I just heard you worked miracles with the council, and I wanted to say congratulations.”

“Oh, that was like, no big deal,” Alexis says as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “Trust me, once you’ve negotiated your way out of a hostage situation or two, town councils are totally small fry.”

Stevie blinks before glancing at Patrick, who looks completely unfazed by the comment. “Oh. Well, sure,” she says faintly.

“Actually, Stevie,” Patrick says, and there it is again — that undercurrent of a teasing tone she can’t quite read. “We were just about to head across to the café for dinner if you’d like to join us.”

Stevie almost says yes, but the dark look Alexis sends Patrick’s way at the words stops her. She’s not going to barge in where she’s not wanted. “Thanks, but I actually have dinner on at home,” she says. It’s not quite a lie, if you consider that there’s the number of a pizza place  _ on _ her fridge.

“That’s a shame,” Patrick says lightly, and Stevie just nods, unsure of what else to say. 

“Well, I guess I’d better go,” she says after a moment of uneasy silence. “Um, I’ll see you around, Alexis.”

“Yes.” There’s far more emphasis on the word than Stevie was expecting. “Definitely.”

“It was so nice to meet you, Stevie,” Patrick adds, and she nods awkwardly at him before she heads for the door. She looks back at Alexis one more time as she pulls the door closed behind her, and isn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’s smacking Patrick on the arm and saying something Stevie can’t hear.

* * *

The flash day sneaks up in a whirlwind of tattoos and not looking in the windows of store 14 when she passes and nights on her sofa with a glass or three of wine and trying not to think about the way Alexis’ hair smelled when they hugged. Somewhere in there, Stevie finds time to actually draw the damn designs people can choose from on the day: rainbows and the various flags and hearts and a few script options (“QUEER AF” is always their most popular, but she tries to mix up what it looks like from year to year). And if she has a gap in the corner that she fills with the outline of a rose, the pride colours splashed through it in a watercolour effect, that’s just because she likes having a wide range of designs. 

No matter how many times they do these days, she always forgets just how full-on they are. Every single artist is on the go from the minute they open, snatching a drink or a bite to eat while they sanitise their stations between customers but otherwise powering through without a break. Stevie loses track of how many tattoos she does, on wrists and shoulders and ankles; when she glances up at the clock after adding the agender flag to someone’s bicep and realises it’s finally closing time, she breathes a huge sigh of relief that she can hear being echoed by the rest of her team. 

“Hey, Stevie.”

Her head snaps up to find Alexis standing in the doorway. She had her official opening two days ago; there’s been a parade of people walking up and down the atrium all day, flowers in hand. Stevie had meant to pop in, she really had, but she’d had an appointment run late and by the time she’d locked up Alexis’ lights were off.

But now Alexis is here instead. 

“Hey,” she says, pushing a tendril of hair out of her face where it snuck out of her ponytail. “What’s up?”

“Actually,” Alexis’ voice is cautious, softer than Stevie’s ever heard it. “I know I’m a little late, but I was wondering if you could squeeze me in? For one of your flash tattoos,” she adds quickly, almost as if she knows Stevie’s brain would go somewhere else entirely with  _ squeeze me in. _

Stevie has one unbreakable rule for flash days, for everyone’s sanity: if you’re not already on the table at closing time, you’re not getting tattooed. It’s the only way to avoid the guilt trips from people that, from previous experience, results in them working well into the night. 

Closing time was fifteen minutes ago.

“Sure, I can do that,” Stevie says, and it’s only when she hears a throat being cleared behind her that she remembers the team are still here. She turns around, hoping the look on her face is enough to deter any comments; apparently it is, and the smirks she can ignore. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve needed someone to supervise my tattooing,” she says pointedly, glaring at each of them in turn. Eric is the first to leave, Ruth and Mandy trailing along behind him; she hears the front door open and close, and then there’s a peal of laughter that is nowhere near muffled enough for Stevie’s liking. She clears her throat before looking back at Alexis.

“Which design did you want?” It comes out more brusque than she intends, but Alexis just smiles at her. 

“Oh, I think I need this rose,” she says. “Can I get it here?” She gestures to her collarbone, head tilted, and Stevie lets herself get distracted by the lines of her neck for one full second before she snaps her attention back.

“Sure,” she says as she grabs one of the stencils from the pile. “Probably not the least painful place for a first tattoo, but it won’t be too bad. I can be gentle.”

“I bet you can,” Alexis says softly, and Stevie flushes all the way down to her toes at the tone. “But this isn’t my first tattoo.”

Stevie blinks. She learned a long time ago that trying to judge who might and might not have a tattoo is a fruitless endeavour, but… still. “Really?”

“Mm.” Alexis turns around and, with a lack of shame that Stevie kind of envies even as she finds it  _ deeply _ distracting, untucks her top from her skirt and unzips enough of the skirt to reveal a faded Chinese symbol on her lower back.

“Oof, that’s a bad blowout,” she says as she looks at it, and Alexis whirls to face her.

“What do you mean?” she asks, bringing a hand to her hair with a worried look on her face, and it takes Stevie a moment to catch up before she starts laughing.

“No, that’s not— I meant your tattoo,” she says. “It’s all… blurry, like the ink has bled. Sorry. Your hair is perfect.” It’s out of her mouth before she can swallow it back, but Alexis’ face relaxes into a soft smile. 

“You’re sweet,” she says, and Stevie snorts. She’s been called a lot of things in her life, but never  _ sweet. _ She distracts herself from the slowly rising tide of deeply unprofessional feelings by applying the stencil carefully to Alexis’ collarbone and asking her to check the placement in the mirror while she moves the table into a half-reclined position and prepares her station with inks and water and paper towels. Alexis makes herself comfortable on the table as Stevie’s hooking up her coil, her blouse tugged down and out of the way, and Stevie’s mouth goes dry for a moment before she remembers she’s a professional, dammit.

“Ready?” she asks, and Alexis nods as the buzzing of the machine fills the air around them.

She tends to slip into the zone when she’s tattooing, and Alexis doesn’t try to break the silence. She sits exceptionally still, though, which Stevie appreciates as she makes her way methodically across the outline of the stencil. It’s only once the colours have been added and she can sit back in her seat that Stevie realises how stiffly she’s been holding herself, and she stretches before leaning back in to do a final cleanup of the excess ink that’s fallen out. It looks stunning, if she says so herself, the colours popping beautifully against Alexis’ skin.

“I’m just going to give that a few minutes to settle before I wrap it,” she says, and Alexis nods. Stevie busies herself tidying up her station, discarding her gloves and cleaning up all the unused ink, and by the time she’s done the tattoo is looking good enough that she’s happy to wrap it, and she gets Alexis to stand while she carefully cleans it one last time before applying the Saniderm bandage over the design so it’s still visible.

“You know,” Alexis offers into the silence, “I’m happy to help you with designs next year. If you wanted to use some flowers with a bit of meaning behind them.”

Stevie snorts. “Oh, are there queer flowers?” she snarks, but Alexis just shakes her head with a small smile on her face. 

“That’s not quite what I meant,” she says softly. “But, you know… amaryllis for pride and determination. Protea is diversity and courage.” She steps impossibly closer, and Stevie’s breath hitches. “Gladiolus, strength of character,” she adds in a whisper and then her hand is on the back of Stevie’s neck and their lips are pressed together and Stevie feels her whole body relax into the kiss. It’s easy, the kiss. Easier than it should be, probably, but for once Stevie is able to tell that part of her brain to just shut the fuck up and let her kiss the pretty, good-smelling, tousled-haired  _ boss bitch _ in front of her.

* * *

When Stevie gets to the store the next morning, there’s a bouquet on the counter: rich blue flowers surrounded by delicate white. 

She approaches it with the sort of trepidation perhaps best reserved for one of the mysterious 'care packages' Darlene still occasionally sends from Florida. Alexis had  _ seemed _ happy when they parted ways last night, but she’s had a whole fourteen hours since then for the regret to set in. She’s bracing for rejection and hoping for affirmation when she flips open the card, but instead of a message there’s just a list:  
_ Blue Iris  
_ _ Bouvardia  
_ _ Anemone _

Stevie frowns down at it. Did the wrong thing get transcribed on the card? It takes her a long moment before she finally remembers what Alexis said, voice low as they sat across from each other in the bar.

_ Flowers have meanings, you know? You can send a message or whatever, if you want to. _

Cool. So she gets to google search to find out if she’s being preemptively dumped. That’s a fun game.

With a sigh, she picks up her phone in the hand that’s not already holding the card. 

Ten minutes later when her first client for the day arrives, Stevie is still blinking down at her phone in confusion. The internet is telling her  _ hope _ and  _ anticipation _ and  _ enthusiasm, _ and none of those sound like a rejection. They sound like the start of something. And in —  _ seven hours, _ she realises with a glance at the clock on the wall — she can go and see Alexis, and hopefully confirm that with actual words.

* * *

Over the next few months, there are more kisses than Steve can count, a Chinese food order that slowly gets perfected, late nights of Alexis sleepily watching Stevie draw designs that are later permanently etched into vast expanses of skin, early morning deliveries with too-hot coffees and shared doughnuts and finding any excuse to touch, lazy days off in Stevie’s apartment or Alexis’, tangled together until hunger drives them out of bed — and every Monday morning, flowers and a card appear on Stevie's counter as if by magic. The first time it’s a bunch of daffodils delivered with a card in Alexis's loopy handwriting:  _ to new beginnings. _ A bouquet of ranunculus along with  _ I am dazzled by your charms. _ The delphiniums with a note about  _ an open heart and ardent attachment. _ A stunning collection of hibiscuses accompanied by a note which says simply  _ rare beauty. _

When they’ve been dating close to four months a bouquet of red roses arrives without a card, the thorns stripped away. In the months they’ve been together Alexis hasn’t sent her roses once and when she looks up the meaning, the giddy smile she can feel stretching across her face is so wide Ruth actually asks her if she’s won the lottery or something.

_ Better, _ she wants to say, but she doesn’t. Being loved by Alexis Rose hasn’t changed her  _ that _ much. 

Later, after closing, she still makes Alexis say it first, insisting that “the language of flowers” doesn’t  _ actually _ count.

There are a lot of red flowers after that: tulips and carnations and chrysanthemums, the meaning behind the colour apparently consistent no matter what kind of flower Alexis decides to send her.

* * *

Fuck flash days in general and Hallowe’en flash days in particular. Stevie is  _ shattered, _ and it’s only the thought of the amount of money they’ve raised for the SPCA that is getting her through her aching back and stiff neck and sore hands. By the time the last customers have left she can barely muster up the energy to clean up her station, and she waves everybody out before climbing onto the table and lying back in a weird mix of exhausted and keyed up.

“You look rough, babe.”

Alexis’ voice makes her jump, and when she looks up to see her framed in the doorway she’s struck with a wild sense of déjà vu.

“No after-hours tattoos today, sorry,” she says as she slumps back and closes her eyes, and Alexis just laughs. 

“Mm, no, definitely not,” she replies. Her voice is a lot closer this time and then she feels the table move under her as Alexis hoists herself up onto it. She pries her eyelids open to see Alexis stretched out next to her, lying on her side and gazing at her with wide, concerned eyes.

“Stevie, you’re so tense.” She noses her way into the space behind Stevie’s ear, pressing a kiss there as her hand falls to Stevie’s waist. “Want me to help you relax?”

“Fuck, yes.” The weariness in her bones is slowly being replaced by a deep-seated need as Alexis slides her hand from Stevie’s waist onto her stomach, drawing soft circles there before she drags it up and over the swell of her breast and Stevie gasps, arching up into the touch.

“Ooh, that’s good actually, stay like that a sec,” Alexis murmurs before working her hand into the small gap now left between Stevie’s body and the table. She manages to worm her way into Stevie’s tank top and deftly unhooks her bra with one hand before pulling away, letting Stevie relax back into the table as Alexis’ hand finds its way back to her ribcage. Then she’s working gentle, nimble fingers under the now-loose underwire of Stevie’s bra, brushing her fingers lightly over her nipple and making her whimper before pinching it hard enough to drag out a too-loud groan.

“Please,” she whispers. Alexis presses a kiss to her temple, the chasteness entirely at odds with the way she’s rolling Stevie’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

“I know, I’ve got you.” Then her hand is gone and Stevie whimpers for an entirely different reason, but Alexis keeps her hand pressed against Stevie’s skin as it makes its way from her breast, down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. Alexis brings her lips to Stevie’s neck, sucking a kiss there that Stevie is going to have to either cover up or field comments on later but she can’t bring herself to care, not when Alexis’ teeth are scraping achingly gently against her skin and her hand is making quick work of her fly. By the time Alexis slides a hand into her underwear she’s panting hard, bucking up when Alexis’ fingers move delicately down and she realises how wet she is.

She wraps a hand around the back of Alexis’ neck and pulls her closer, dragging her into a frantic kiss that only temporarily distracts her from wriggling her hand further into Stevie’s underwear to press inside her. Stevie licks desperately into Alexis’ mouth, her gasps and grunts and moans muffled by the kiss, and with two fingers buried inside her and a thumb stroking her clit with just the right rhythm and pressure it’s an embarrassingly short time before she’s pulling away to cry out, throwing her head back and pressing up into the heel of Alexis’ hand as she comes so hard there are stars dancing at the edges of her vision before she falls bonelessly back onto the table underneath her. 

She’s so out of it that she doesn’t even notice Alexis reclaiming her hand until she brings her fingers to her own mouth, licking daintily at them as she looks Stevie right in the eye with a small smile, and Stevie has to suck a harsh breath in through her teeth. Because that’s the thing about Alexis — she looks all innocent, but she’s more than capable of being just as filthy and wild and adventurous as Stevie is.

“Your turn,” she mumbles, but she can’t seem to get her limbs to cooperate. Still, she doesn’t appreciate Alexis laughing quite as loudly as she does.

“Mm, I don’t think that’s happening tonight,” she grins, pressing a kiss to the juncture between Stevie’s neck and jaw. And Stevie really wants to protest, but she’s also so fucking tired she’s struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Come on, babe,” Alexis adds. “Let’s get you home.”

She doesn’t ask if Alexis means her place or Stevie’s. At some point, they both became home.

_ Tomorrow, _ she thinks. Tomorrow, she’ll get up early and go to Bob’s Bagels to get the good cinnamon raisin bagels Alexis loves. Tomorrow she’ll wake Alexis up slowly, with a mouth between her legs until she’s writhing and twisting in the bedsheets and begging Stevie for more. Tomorrow, they’ll spend the day doing absolutely nothing, which are Stevie’s favourite kind of days, because they don’t happen often between the two of them.

Tomorrow, she’ll figure out her own version of thornless red roses, and spend every morning after that delivering on them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[art] tomorrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744539) by [SparklesMagicLightLove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklesMagicLightLove/pseuds/SparklesMagicLightLove)




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